Setting sail
by JellybeanChiChi
Summary: Post fic for the series finale. What might they have been thinking through the up and downs of the episode.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to CSI.

 **A/N:** Post fic for the series finale. Dedicated to fanfiction friends who have made this ride so freakin' enjoyable.

* * *

It's funny how a person can flood your entire being with so many emotions in a singular moment.

Anger, anguish, pain, bitterness, love.

Scratch that last one. Yes, love doesn't fade that easily, but when you have tried desperately to erase that emotion (mostly because of the anger, pain and bitterness) in order to move on you have to remember why it faded in the first place. Mistakes were made, as were decisions. Tough decisions. But they were made and I have moved on.

So we're back to anger, pain, bitterness… regret.

His regret. Not mine. I don't regret moving forward.

So, yes, when Conrad mentioned his name I became flooded with all kind of emotions. Some I tapered down. Some I adjusted. And some directed my tone and demeanor around him. Yes, I snipped. I had the right to snip. He talked to Heather a few days ago, but doesn't pick up the phone and call me at any point in the last … year or so.

But whatever. I moved on... trying to. And it pissed me off that in the wake of moving on I see that "deer in the headlights" look from him. He saw Catherine and his face lit up. He saw me and he looked like he's about to throw up.

Now it's easy to understand why love can fade.

I mean we never even had a true conversation. We were in the car for half an hour and he didn't say anything. There I am waiting for him to pick up the opportunity to speak. But he didn't... couldn't.

Then we get out of the car, I spoke and get… well nothing. So I tried to be the mature one. Tried to be the one who dictated, "That was then; this is now." Asked him to be professional and expected him to stay quiet. But no. That's when he decided to have something escape that stupid, stubborn mouth of his. And yes, it was stupid. Honestly, what was I supposed to do with that comment?

* * *

It wasn't as if I didn't want to say something to her. I had volumes upon volumes of things to say to her. I practiced monologues in my head. Not just on the way to Vegas, but for months and months.

Yet seeing her did leave me a little speechless. That was not a lie. Seeing her in front of me left me reeling in an ocean of emotions.

Desire. Anguish. Beauty. Pain. Love. Regret.

I should have been able to speak with her. I should have been able to converse with her. But despite the time spent in reflection of what to say and how to say it, nothing seemed … right… good enough… logical.

But love is never logical. It is a lesson she taught me and one I have failed to achieve a high mark upon when tested on it in the past couple of years.

Coming to Vegas and standing in a place so familiar yet so foreign discomforted me. I wanted nothing more than to embrace her upon seeing her, but instead felt the need to take a step back. Oh, how that moment simply ground home my isolation, be it self-imposed or circumstanced by the events that broke my heart.

But I understand the cold nature of her stare. The bitterness in her tone. The hurt and anger in her eyes. I recognized it and felt pain in witnessing it. There was no light in her eyes upon meeting my gaze. Perhaps that also served to silence me. Did I have the right to say anything to her? She didn't seem to want to see my face, much less hear my voice.

I wanted to offer her the lead. If she chose to speak to me, she would. If her words were embittered, I had no right to rebut them. My cell phone service has been spotty, but when a call did come through I had hoped Sara's number would be displayed on the screen. Alas, it was Heather's.

She didn't like that I took Heather's side right away. I wouldn't have if I had thought she was culpable, and evidence displayed her guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. But it had not. Even the promise of a happy ending wouldn't justify overlooking the truth. It was a gamble to speak my mind, but that's why I was brought back to Vegas in the first place. I was asked my opinion, so I answered.

And maybe that's when I should have quit talking. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything when she challenged me to put on a mask and stand next to her as if she wasn't the love of my life and I still yearned for her but made disastrous mistakes that marred our relationship.

So instead of being speechless, I told her I had been speechless. I thought it would be a compliment.

Judging from the look on her face, she didn't think so.

* * *

I did like working side-by-side with him. But that was a good thing because that meant I could be in the same room with him and not justifiably wring his neck. That was a point in my favor.

Go Team Sidle.

And, I admit, it felt good to hear him say he missed working side-by-side with me. I just wished he didn't say it with that look on his face.

I'm not stupid. I do know the man. I recognized the look on his face. Sad puppy. Dopey. Whatever you want to call it.

Emotional.

I know he had that look again. With the bees. … Of all things to find in that synthetic body. A stupid bee.

I shouldn't say that. Bees aren't stupid. It's just… the memories I have with bees are…

No. That's not right either. The memories aren't stupid either.

OK, I admit it. Getting suited up and seeing him all geeked out around the insects gave me a warm familiar feeling.

But so does a good cup of hot chocolate.

Anyway, I know he had that same look on his face then. I mean, I didn't see it. I could feel it. Like I said, I'm not stupid. There we were, outside in our bee suits, sitting in silence. But I knew he was fidgeting. I could feel it. When he shifted, he made little noises. He probably didn't even realize it. A louder than normal exhale of a breath. I could hear him wiping his finger on the back of his neck. When he brought his finger to his lips, he unconsciously chattered his teeth five times. And then he cleared his throat in a barely audible way.

And I could feel him looking at me. It didn't feel creepy. It kind of felt…

Lovestruck.

But that's not a good word. A lovestruck man would have said something.

But he didn't. So that was that.

So, yeah, in my mind, the whole situation boiled down to one thing and one thing only: I worked side-by-side with him and didn't wring his neck.

Point for Team Sidle.

* * *

Missed opportunities. How they haunt us and remind us of our failings. Why couldn't I tell her how I felt while we awaited the bees? I could tell her about the bees, but as I looked at her, observed her, I became an oratory eunuch.

But missed opportunities could offer a lesson - offer an awareness - of what is to come.

She deserved all her successes. She has never been less than brilliant and hard working. Those were the reasons why she needed to come back — to thrive to her full potential in a career that she literally put blood, sweat and tears into. Why didn't I just say that to her?

Because I believed she didn't need to hear that from me. Her body language told me how she wanted to go beyond what I could give her and offer her. I understand and I submit.

But I did need to say at least one last thing. As a man whose home was now on a boat called "Ismael" offering a whale of a tale seemed apropos.

I first heard the story about the whale from a young man who was listening to an album by a Taiwanese singer. I can't say I found the music as something I would "jam" to, but the album's third track was inspired by the whale's ultimate loneliness.

What can I say? I was (and am) a lonely old man on a boat — a circumstance of my own design, I realize. Still, the song struck a chord.

Seeing those charges strapped to that man, and knowing the urgency of an explosion was not going to happen, suddenly I didn't want to be speechless anymore. She was right next to me, but I didn't have to address her. I could speak to her through him. Cowardly, I know, but apparently if I look at the woman, my tongue became non-functional so this was an opportunity I had to grab.

So, yes, I tried to convey my feelings to her in a cryptic manner. And yes, she deserved better than that. I know that. But for the life of me I didn't know what else to do.

So I reverted. I am not proud of it. But I hoped, I prayed she would understand.

And in the hallway watching her achieve, my pride spilled over. She was so deserving. And again, just as I wanted convey how wonderful she was, if not through my words but at least through my eyes. I didn't want her to feel an obligation to offer me a chance; I just wanted her to know she was loved. Deeply. Thoroughly. Forever.

Even if it was a love for a man she no longer wants. A coward who was willing to let his best friend go and miss her for the rest of his life.

* * *

I deserved this promotion. I worked hard… damn hard for this promotion. I am smart and brave and strong and I could and would do this job well. I WAS the worthy candidate. I was someone who can speak for the victims, recognize horseshit and play politics while not losing who I truly am.

That's the tough one, wasn't it? Not losing who I truly was. It has happened before at this job. But I have an armor. If anything I have been able to mold that armor around me. I was ready for this office and sat down immediately to get to work.

After Lindsey dropped off the tape, I almost didn't look at it. Why? Because Lady Heather's an absolute bitch.

There. I said it. I think she's a bitch who should be in jail and I have always been jealous that my husband… my ex-husband talked to her a few days ago.

And if Lindsey hadn't added that line about watching the end, I probably wouldn't have viewed the tape at all. But I figured that bitch probably made some snide comment about me and curiosity got the best of me.

I wasn't expecting him to say any of that.

I haven't done a crossword since we've been apart.

After viewing it three times, I looked around the office. I could see what DB had taken and what little was left behind. He made it his own and did a nice job. When I would come into his office, I would be immersed in him, which is quite a feat because before I would have been immersed…

In him. In Grissom.

This office had been his home for night after night after night after night. Because this job became his life, so much so that he was too blind to see anything around him. Including me.

Then he noticed.

Thinking about that struck me profoundly, because I think I finally realized why he noticed.

It was a comment he said to me in the rain forest. We were sitting at the table having coffee in the mess tent, and doing a crossword from a book of them he brought on the plane.

I saw a clue - "the part of a knight's armor that covers the foot." When I saw his answer, I smiled and swatted his shoulder. "Hey, Sir Camelot. You spelled sabaton incorrectly. There's no 'e' in the word."

"Oh, thank you," he said as he changed the spelling. "And while I am humbled by being called a knight, I think shedding my armor has been the best thing that ever happened to me."

"What armor?"

"The one I molded my entire time in Vegas," he said somberly. "I never realized how much I hated it. Now I'm glad it's finally gone because I'm here with you."

At the time I just thought it was one of his dopey metaphors that sound sweet but made little sense. Kind of like talking about a whale that speaks lower than a tuba.

But now I understood the armor he was speaking about - the one I could practically see glimmering off the harsh overhead light of his office. The armor that helped establish the moniker of "Gruesome Grissom" and description of him as an unemotional robot. The necessary armor for anyone in his position of authority.

A position I had now. My armor was pretty well established and I thought I was OK with that. Proud of that.

Then why instead of focusing on moving forward do I have this bevy of questions? Like, what would he had said to me if seeing me didn't make him a little speechless? Would he had stopped fidgeting around those damn bee hives and shared what was on my mind if I turned around and said, "What's up?" What kind of song would he sing to me if he just tried to speak when I was willing to listen?

And the tough one. He seemed genuinely happy for me after I got my promotion, and gave me that stupid, dopey look again. OK, maybe not stupid. Maybe lovestruck. Maybe hopeful. Maybe like he wanted me to say something.

After working side-by-side with him — after solving another case with him — instead of saying goodbye, was he hoping I opened the door for him to stay in Vegas?

It sure was hard to think straight with the weight of this armor.

He said he lost his belief in humanity. That I restored his faith in the human being. At one time he did the very same to me - restored my faith.

I remember the last time I felt that. It was right before I put on this armor.

This office now felt even emptier.

No, scratch that. It's not the office that felt empty.

* * *

As the twilight began to engulf the light emanating from the setting sun, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feeling of our bodies' proximity. While the singular moment flooded a wash of loving emotions, something still nagged the back of my mind.

It was not something rooted in those previous emotions of anger or anguish or bitterness. But something different yet familiar.

Uncertainty.

"We have so much to talk about," I said.

"I know we do," he replied.

"I know we sometimes think we communicate better without words, but … I don't think we should rely on that."

"Neither do I."

I wished he would say more, expound on the topics I was bringing up. Oh no. Was this ship going to sink already? "I need more than those answers, Gil."

He looked at me, and then turned forward again. "Yes. You do." With no risk of a collision, he felt he was in a safe place to stop. "Sara, you gave up a lot to be here. I don't want all these unresolved issues to get the best of us. We don't have to live life like that. Not if we don't want to. I don't want this to be about my happiness or your happiness. It has to be about our happiness."

His words made me pull back to look at him. Really look at him. Between the scruff and weathered jacket and the way he commandeered the wheel as if he was born on a sea vessel, he certainly looked the part of a sea captain. But it was his words that helped me understand he was willing to take the reigns and steer our relationship into the right direction.

And I wanted to as well. "Then we need to find where our happiness lies."

"We should have done that years ago," he said as he took my hands into his own. "I'm happy with you, Sara. And I would like to think you're happy with me. But sometimes we don't know how to make each other happy or admit we aren't making each other happy. Does that make sense?"

It did. It was his nice way of saying we are just fucking retarded when it comes to figuring out how to live our lives together. Long-distance marriage? Sure! That would work for two people whose dating and engaged relationships suffered during moments of extended separation. Two people who demonstrate the communication skills of mimes who don't like to use their hands and have two left feet.

We are like novice scientists. We might get the hypothesis right but have an experimental method that blows up in our face. God knows we both have third-degree burns that we gave each other. We could compare who has more burns or whose burns are bigger, but what's the point of that?

"We've got to learn from our mistakes," I said. "Admit them and learn from them."

He looked down at our hands and let out a sigh. When he brought his head back up there was a hitch in his voice. "That will take time."

I didn't want him to even try to loosen his grip, so I tightened my hold. "I've got time."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "It's OK to tell me you don't trust me to be the person you need me to be. I feel that is one of the reasons we drifted apart because I didn't live up to what I should have been for you."

"You didn't." I found it was easy to be brutally honest while floating in tranquil waters where you actually felt like you and he were the only two people on the planet. "All I want to do is trust that you will work on this. And I want to believe you will."

"I will," he said, his voice breaking up. "Trust is something we both have struggled with. That and honesty."

I didn't enjoy hearing him say I had been dishonest, but that's part of being in these open waters. We both needed to be open with one another. "Like you said, it will take time and work."

"Then let's get started." He released my hands and returned to captaining the boat. His first maneuver was the turn the boat around and return back to the marina. It wasn't a long sojourn, but it was a quiet one, save the sounds of the engine and the waves bouncing off the hull of the craft.

We moored and anchored together, working side-by-side again. "We should go back to Vegas," he suggested. "Take some time to talk and plan. If that would be OK with you? I can stay at a hotel…"

"Do you want to stay with me?"

"More than anything. Is that an invitation?"

"Yes," I replied, offering something I should have long ago.

He swallowed a lump in his throat and I thought he might start fidgeting again. But he didn't. Instead he took me into his arms and pulled me close. "I know there is so much unresolved. I know there is so much to talk about. But I also know you coming aboard this boat is an absolute treasure. And I might be selfish but in this moment all I want to do is savor the love you offered me and make love to you."

Dear God how that sounded so much better than a story about a tuba-playing whale. Of course, I don't think hearing those words while watching red dots from sniper rifles bounce off a mad man's chest would have been effective in that moment.

But it sure as hell was effective in this moment. In fact, it made me a little …

Speechless.

It hadn't dawned on me how long it was since we last kissed until I felt his lips upon mine. I poured so much emotion into that kiss. Yes there was anguish, which is probably why I felt tears upon my cheek. Some were his. Some were mine. But there was far more passion, desire and love, so much so it burned to touch him which only meant we melted in one another's arms.

Retreating to the galley, we wasted little time and made love. Tears still fell, even as he entered me fully. I reached up to brush a tear from his cheek. "Please don't be sad," I said to him even as I reveled in how complete I felt.

He stilled for a moment. "I'm not sad. I'm only grieving over time lost."

Thankfully, those were the only words of regret spoken. There would be time for that later. We needed our foundation rebuilt. And what better way than on a bed of love and beauty after literally riding off into the sunset.

* * *

FIN

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading. Thanks especially to Devon for offering me the encouragement to post.


End file.
